


The Morning After

by theredheadinadress



Series: Tumblr Oneshots [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adlock, F/M, Teenlock, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:50:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredheadinadress/pseuds/theredheadinadress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to Prompt #4. Irene and Sherlock wake up the morning after a drunken splurge in London to find Sherlock's parents are visiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to Prompt #4

They’d been too drunk, or rather Irene had been, and too desperate, both of them, to make it further than the drawing room when they’d stumbled home in the early hours of the morning. They’d supposed to have been at some music concert their school was hosting at the Royal Albert Hall; Sherlock was even supposed to be playing the violin in it. But Sherlock could barely suffer through organised education on an average 8-5 school day, let alone extra hours at some god damn awful music event. However, Irene had actually wanted to go, it had been Sherlock that had deterred her and dragged her away from the crowd of students awaiting to enter the Hall. She’d raised an eyebrow but let him move his hand to her lower back and direct her across the street and around the corner anyway.

In retaliation she’d stopped him from getting a cab back to his house, the one he shared with his older brother Mycroft if he didn’t stay at school, and instead dragged him to go bar hopping. It wasn’t Sherlock’s thing, but it was Irene, even though technically she was still 17 and not yet legal to drink. Nonetheless, she used a mixture of flirting, her fake drivers license and Sherlock to get drinks and even Sherlock, who didn’t really do this kind of thing did begin to have a little fun. They played games with each other, flirting with other people until the other one boiled over with anger as a far older man squeezed her arse or when a hot university student sat on Sherlock’s lap and ran her long manicured fingers through his hair. The latter was actually what caused them to be kicked out of a bar in Soho when Irene made a drunken scene and may or may not have tugged a fistful of hair out of the girl’s own scalp. Sherlock couldn’t help but contain a laugh and her evident jealousy when he dragged her into the back of a taxi to take them back to his house at 3am.

As soon as the door had slammed shut of the cab and Sherlock had given the address to his Westminster townhouse, Irene was all over him. Not that it wasn’t reciprocated, thank goodness the taxi driver wasn’t a prude or tried to make conversation, because both of the occupants in the back were only concerned with each other. Sherlock could taste the alcohol on her lips as he traced them with his tongue, he didn’t usually like the liquid, it always dulled the senses unlike narcotics, but he had to admit he’d happily lap it up when it was on the woman. The kiss deepened until Irene’s hand began to tug at the waistband of his trousers and Sherlock’s eyes widened as she began to drunkenly palm the bulge in his trousers that had been beginning to grow since Soho. Thankfully, they were prevented from going any further by a rather indiscreet cough from the taxi driver to signal they’d arrived at their destination. Sherlock had tried to pry off the drunken Irene in order to try and reach into his pocket to withdraw a fistful of notes to thrust at the driver.

He knew there was little chance of waiting until they’d gotten upstairs, not with Irene basically tearing his shirt off in the entrance hall, it would be hopeless to think they’d manage to be fully dressed by the time they’d walked up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. Instead, Sherlock withdrew his mouth from her neck, where he’d had her pinned against the wall and half dragged her, half carried her, into the nearby drawing room, managing to press the light button on as he went. They’d had sex, drunkenly and excitedly and Sherlock wondered with how vocal they’d been, how they hadn’t woken up both the Housekeeper and his older brother who was sleeping only the floor above them. Although, in the past few months, Sherlock believed that his brother had invested in a pair of working earplugs for precisely this reason, both Sherlock and Irene had a tendency to be quite vocal in their activities. By the time they’d finished, they found themselves half sprawled over the cream sofa and half on the floor, both too tired and in Irene’s case delirious, to move more than a few inches, Sherlock used the last of his strength to haul Irene’s legs onto the sofa so that they were both lying properly on it before leaning over to grab the Burberry blanket she’d bought him last month with his name monogrammed onto it. She was already nearly asleep by the time he’d managed to open it up and cover both their semi-naked bodies, before closing his own eyes.

“What is this?” Mycroft’s hiss at 8 in the morning, a mere four hours since Sherlock and Irene had contemplated sleep, awoke Sherlock from his rather dreamless sleep.   
“Mmm.” He said in response, opening one eye at a time to find himself entangled with Irene and a bunch of hair in his face. He rolled over onto his back and attempted to look over the top of the blanket to see his older brother fuming in the semi closed doorway. “What?” He asked with a frown, infuriating Mycroft and awaking the woman next to him. She stirred once and shifted as she began to awake, letting the blanket drop slightly to reveal the curve of her breast.   
“Oh hello Mycroft?” She said once she’d fully opened her eyes.   
Mycroft’s face tinged red as the blanket slipped and Sherlock bit back a laugh. Irene noticed him staring but made no effort to cover her modesty. “Oh don’t be a prude Mycroft.” She retorted at his face.  
Mycroft’s jaw tensed. “Mother and Father have just arrived Sherlock.” He growled. “I’d suggest getting dressed and escorting Ms Adler to the door.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his older brother as the man shut the door to the drawing room. For a moment there was silence between Irene and him as they both tried to hear the words being exchanged in the entrance hall.   
“Sherlock will be down in a minute mother, he had a violin recital last night, he’s just very tired.” Mycroft said pleasantly.   
Irene could hear the voice of an older woman muttering something about teenage boys and then an agreement coming from an older man before the voices died out as Mycroft obviously directed them into his office.   
“Upstairs?” Sherlock queried, when it was evident his parents had left the entrance hall.  
“Oh you’re not hiding me.” Irene retorted, turning onto her side to face him.  
He rolled his egged and pushed back the blanket, making Irene squirm as the cold air hit her semi naked body. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over her so that he could stand up. She watched him for a moment, standing there naked in front of her. He was skinny, but not a stick, he had enough muscle on him to be appealing and his perfectly formed arse was just begging for her to rake her finger nails over it, tonight, she thought to herself.

"I want to meet your parents." Irene said, getting up and moving to pick up her bra that had been discarded when they’d arrived earlier that morning.   
“No.” Sherlock growled, making Irene turn and raise an eyebrow.  
“Oh you’re not embarrassed about me are you?” She said mockingly.   
“No.” He said again, but she had her suspicions that he was lying. “Anyway I haven’t met your Uncle so it’s only fair.”   
“It’s hardly the same.” Irene countered. “He’s on business.”   
“He’s always on business.” Sherlock retorted as they both threw on the rest of their clothing.   
“We’ll if you’re as fish as he, you can afford to travel under the guise of business. In his defence, Dubai is warmer than London this time of year. You can hardly blame him.”

Sherlock frowned at her, noticing she’d pulled on his tailored school shirt instead of her own dress.   
“You’re not meeting them dressed like that.” He said.   
“Why not?” She teased with a tantalising smirk. “Would you prefer it if I took it off?” She added, pulling it over her head in one swoop and now standing in the middle of Sherlock’s living room in just her underwear.

Sherlock rolled her eyes and threw her the navy Armani dress she’s been wearing yesterday, instead of her required uniform. “Get dressed.” He demanded

"Oh I do love it when you get all dominant on me." She laughed throatily, catching the dress and pulling over her head.   
Once she was adequately dressed and she’d slipped her sky scraper heels, that definitely were against the uniform rules of their school, Sherlock nodded his approval and led her out to Mycroft’a office. He doesn’t know why he’s momentarily against her meeting his parents, it’s not that he wants their approval or anything. But he also knows that once Irene wants something, she gets what she wants. If she wanted to see his parents, she would find a way to do so, so the best way to do it would be to allow her on his terms.

His mother pounced on him as soon as they entered without knocking. She pulled him into a hug having not seen him in over a month. Having been kicked out or rather ‘forcibly asked to leave’ several high brow independent schools around the country, Sherlock’s parents had agreed to send him to live with his older brother Mycroft where he could watch over the boy. It had worked out better than anybody had oresicted, and Sherlock had managed to complete nearly a year and a half of sixth form already at Westminster. Although it meant that his parents rarely saw him anymore.

“And whose this?” Sherlock’s mother said, once she’d finally let go of Sherlock. She wasn’t saying it accusingly at Irene, merely out of curiosity.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as he looked up to see the dark haired 17 year old girl, dressed beyond her years standing in his office. “This is Ms Adler and she’s just leaving.” He said forcefully, glaring at the girl.   
“Actually no I’m not.” Irene retorted with a flash of her signature smirk. “I’m Irene, it’s fabulous to finally meet you Mrs Holmes, Sherlock has told me so much about you.” She said, holding out her hand for Sherlock’s mother to shake.

Personally, Sherlock thought she was laying it on a tad too thick, but even he couldn’t help but enjoy making Mycroft furious as she went to kiss their mother’s cheek.

"Are you Sherlock’s girlfriend?" The older woman queried, already liking the girl a lot. Good manners and good looks could go a long way.   
Mycrof growled an immediate no as Irene said yes, leaving Sherlock to frown a moment. Sure he and Irene had sex, they spent a lot of time together, scheming of challenging each other academically but they’d never talked about whatever it was they had. They’d never discussing whether they were a couple and even if they were they’d never be exclusive. Nonetheless, Irene was evidently milking the moment and content to make Sherlock’s older brother squirm, as she conversed with Sherlock’s mother about her relationship with her youngest son. Even Sherlock had to admit, that what could have been a potentially boring morning with his parents was proving to be a little more fun.


End file.
